A cataclysmic bombardment by
meteorites drastically alter Earth's atmosphere... and bring strange alien
plants that have a mind of their own. Because of “mutant” powers, only Glyneth
recognizes the threat these Venusian flowers pose not just to humans, but to
Earth itself.

AN HONORABLE DILEMMA

Major Lucas Jefferson reluctantly
abducts Glyneth as a breeder for his country. But "Lady Bulldog"
teaches him that might is not always right. Can he learn from this villager to
fulfill the ancient prophecy of uniting the old ways with the new?

Scene Set-Up:

Major Lucas Jefferson's
mission is to invade a "primitive" village and abduct women. In this
scene, Glyneth, the unwilling victim, escapes, but then returns to help him
after he has been knocked unconscious by an outside force.

Excerpt:

When Glyneth reached for the
binding cloth, the man held onto her wrist with an unrelenting grip. “No. Stay.
I must... thank you.” His uniform shirt was tight without the armor, and
through the thin material she saw bulging biceps, powerful pectorals, and a
host of manly muscles.

She gulped down hard. She
felt so strange around this man. Unfamiliar emotions stabbed at her, causing
confusion.

No! This won’t do. I must
control myself.

She took a deep breath, then
glanced at her hand, neatly imprisoned within his grasp. “Perhaps you can thank
me by releasing me?”

He let her go, but continued
to pinion her to the spot with his mesmerizing gaze. “This much I can do. As
for allowing you to return to your village, no. That would not be for the
best.”

“It would be best for me.”
Warily eying him, she took a chance on his weakened state and sat a yard away
from him.

“No,” he repeated as if his
word was law. “You will be honored in my province of Columont. Doubly so
because you rescued an heir of the ten sons of Canusa.”

The ten sons of Canusa. Glyneth
scratched at the fake scar on her forehead, then released her hair from the
restricting ponytail. Not having her head covered in a man’s presence made her
feel extremely vulnerable.

Canusa, he had said.
Somehow, that word sounded familiar. “Who is Canusa? Does that mean you are a
prince?”

“The original Canusa was the
most holy of holies. Out of the ten sons--or the ten ruling families--one is
elected to reign as the new Canusa.” He shrugged his broad shoulders, then
winced with pain, probably because of his upper arm. “It is true, I am nobly
born.”

“Not a true warrior then.”
She folded her arms across her chest. “I thought so.”

His eyes narrowed,
glittering dangerously. “You wound me again, woman. Make no mistake, you shall
not escape me a second time.”

“You’re in no condition to
threaten me! Sweet Christmas, I saved your life! Allow me to return home and we
can call the debt paid.” Standing, she pointed her finger at him in an accusing
manner. “Believe me, I don’t want your double honor.”

Before she could blink, he
was on his feet, towering over her. With one quick movement, he twisted her arm
against her back. “We shall call it paid now. By rights I should kill you for
your insults.”

Oh, how her arm did hurt.
But she didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of seeing her flinch. “Kill me
because of words?” Due to his superior height, she lifted her head up to stare
long and hard at his cold, blue eyes. “You come from a savage people.”

“Savage?” he shot back.
“That is ironic coming from an uncivilized villager.”

The man paused. Raking his
gaze over her, he released her arm, then did a quick walkabout where they
stood, scanning the rock formations in the dark. “Raiding your village is not
something we wish to do but it is necessary for our survival.”

“And so that makes it
acceptable, hmmn?” For some perverse reason, she was enjoying herself. Fighting
with words was far more exhilarating than thrusting with swords.

He ran his hand over his
unbandaged hair and changed the subject. “You look different, woman.”

If she wasn’t scared before,
the peculiar gleam in his eyes scared her now. “It’s nighttime, in case you
haven’t noticed. Everything looks different in the dark. “If you’ll excuse
me--”

Cold metal snapped painfully
hard against her left wrist. It was a silver bracelet, cruelly imprisoning her.
He snapped a duplicate one, connected by a chain, on his own wrist.
“Handcuffs,” he explained. “So you cannot refuse the honor waiting for you back
at my province.”

Wild, fiery fury consumed
her. “How dare you--”

“I dare anything to bring my
prize back to Columont.” With his free hand, he rubbed his forehead. “Good
offensive move, by the way. Called a head butt, I believe. By thunder, it still
hurts. But not as much as the blow....”

He yanked on the handcuffs,
pulling her along. “Never mind. Come. We will find a spot to rest for the
remainder of the night. I could use a good sleep.”

Trailing behind like a
stubborn mule, she dug in her heels, but it was no use. She was no match for
his strength, even in his weakened, fevered state.

The man headed for an area
soft with undulating sand. “Your actions do your village proud. Plucky little
thing.” He sat down, giving her no choice but to follow suit. “I was not wrong
to select you. Quite an improvement without those bulldog cheeks. Your color
has also improved, but you could use more padding on your bones.”

She flared her nostrils.
“Let me go.”

Instead of answering, he
reached over and flattened his palm against her breast.

“Get away from me, you...
you beast!” Tears springing to her eyes, she shoved him away with her
unshackled hand.

Surprisingly, he did not
pursue her, but settled down into the sand. “That is rather difficult to do
with handcuffs binding us. No matter. I am relieved to know you have more
padding on your chest than I originally thought. Your future mate will be
pleased.”

How could she lie down next
to this monster? Imbuing her words with all the venom she felt, she hissed, “I
hate you.”

Although his eyes were
closed, he curved his lips into a smile. “I know. Good-night.”

And blast the man, but the
next minute, he started snoring!

Glyneth chewed on the
fingernails of her free hand, trying to figure her next move. She raised her
left arm, only to drag his arm up, too. There was nothing else to do but ease
down on the sand and close her eyes. The man had won this round. But, she still
had hope. As the ancient saying went, tomorrow was another day.

The future and the past collide!
Anthropologist Serenity Steele meets her heart’s desire in the form of a
short-tempered Regency rake, Nicholas Wycliffe.

Duty or Love? In the year 2020,
anthropologist Serenity Steele's research assignment is to travel back into the
past--however, she doesn't count on the many attractions of a certain Regency
rake. Should she ignore her obligations and stay in the past... or should she
leave behind the man she loves?

An
Enchanting Dilemma: Nicholas Wycliffe, the toplofty Lord Brockton, has no
desire to take a wife, especially a mysterious widow who doesn't live by
society's rules. But what is he to make of the enchanting "Mrs."
Steele, who not only refuses to discuss her past, she also has the audacity to
turn him down when he proposes marriage?

Scene Set-Up:

On assignment in the past,
Serenity attends her first “haut ton” ball. As she studies the notorious rake,
Nicholas Wycliffe, Lord Brockton, she finds him studying her.

Excerpt:

Inhaling deeply, Serenity relaxed for the
first time this evening and looked over at her companion. Amazing how he should
have taken offense at her words... but he didn’t.

What was he thinking? She admired his
profile: the high forehead, straight nose, and his smooth, well-defined jaw.
His features, though, gave no clue to his internal thoughts.

She exhaled again. Of course it was
unwise to relax in the presence of a rake, but then again, how else would she
see how a professional seducer practiced his art? Something told her she
wouldn’t have long to wait.

While she was looking up at the moon of
the nineteenth century, Brockton stepped closer and brushed her ear with his
lips.

Suddenly she was no longer curious. An
image of a brilliant peacock feather tickling her skin exploded in her mind.
She frantically chased it away. Why did she always have these bouts of
synesthesia--the blending of the senses--when she needed all her wits about
her?

“That’s not a good idea.” Retreating from
him, she stumbled on the carpet of grass surrounding the walkway.

He firmly gathered her back onto the path
and they continued their walk, crunching small stones beneath their feet--the
only sounds that broke the quiet.

“You are right, of course. Not a good
idea. Please forgive my momentary madness, my girl. Blame my lapse of good
manners on this romantic atmosphere.”

A smile lurked about the corners of his
mouth. He seemed so sure of himself--so certain she would respond to him.
Certain of success.

Anger coursed through her veins. “I am
neither!” she denied hotly.

“Neither what?”

“Neither yours nor a girl.” She left his
side again, but the darkness seemed almost tangible. The blackness of night
distorted the manicured yew hedges into maniacal shapes. As the wind rustled
close-cropped leaves, it was easy to imagine pairs of hands reaching
out--grabbing her.

Shivering, she quickly returned to his
comforting, yet infuriating nearness.

“You are too literal with your words, are
you not, Mrs. Steele?” A wolfish grin showed he enjoyed her unease. He circled
his arm around her waist.

His touch felt warm through her silky
gown. Again she saw that peacock feather. When his fingers gently kneaded her
skin, she flinched.

“We should be getting back now. If you
please.” She placed some space between them.

Her report on a libertine’s motus
operanti would have to be glaringly omitted from the monograph. She was too
nervous, too affected, and right now she didn’t have time to study her
reactions. Escape was utmost in her mind. “I’ve heard it’s not at all the thing
for a lady to be alone with a rake for any length of time.”

The term “rake” failed to trouble him.
Probably had been called worse!

“Is that how you see me? As a rake and a
rutting buck?” He stopped walking, leaned closer to her, and then with his
fingertip, slowly traced an imaginary line down her forehead, nose, and stopped
on her lips.

She moved her head. “I don’t know you
well enough to venture an opinion. But we do need to return before anyone
notices our absence.”

“You can start getting to know me by
calling me ‘Nicholas.’“

He drew her closer. She tried to push him
away, but he held her tighter. Leaning down to nuzzle her ear with his nose, he
whispered, “And I shall call you ‘Serry.’ What is that short for?”

Without waiting for an answer, his lips
met hers.

Omigosh! She trembled--all the way down
to her core. After a brief hesitation, her lips opened slightly, welcoming him.

He deepened the kiss and their heated
breaths mingled.

Without meaning to, Serenity moaned.
Snuggling closer, she drank in the taste of Nicholas Wycliffe.

Alive. She finally felt alive.

He tightened his arms around her, tilting
her head back and exploring the inner recesses of her mouth.

A flash of bold colors--crimson reds,
scarlet pinks, and flaming oranges--rose up in her mind. Percussionist cymbals
clashing sounded in her ears. As their mouths melded, her senses slowly spun
out of her control....

Colors? Cymbals?

Her heart pounding a path out of her
body, she shook her head to clear the last traces of the vision and then opened
her eyes. Sanity returned. She roughly pulled back from Brockton and his potent
kiss.

The truth was obvious: Nicholas Wycliffe
was responsible for plunging her into a world of synesthesia. His touch--no one
else’s. Just his touch turned her upside down, inside out.

Good heavens! What should she do now?

She slid her hands down her gown,
ostensibly to straighten her garment, but in reality, she needed to steady her
trembling body.

As she did, he watched her. His eyes held
a peculiar expression and his hands were tightly clenched by his sides. Looking
at him, she was mesmerized by the light of the full moon dancing brightly on
his dark, wavy curls. She had to say something. Had to pretend his kiss meant
nothing to her. Which was true, right? Absolutely nothing.

She flicked her tongue over her lips
before speaking. A mistake. She tasted him again.

“Um, since you asked, Serry stands for
Serenity. Now, if I understand Society’s conventions correctly, this outing
could compromise you... and me. We don’t want that to happen, so I’ll do us
both a favor and leave. We’ll forget about this...” Her voice cracked. “...this
interlude by tomorrow. Good-night, Lord Brockton.”

Moving as swiftly as she could, she
returned to the sanctuary of the ballroom.

IMPOSSIBLE LOVE: After
scattering her beloved grandfather’s ashes in the Caribbean, Larissa Parish is
swept overboard and washes up on a deserted island. She comes face to face with
a man who, most impossibly, is her grandfather’s cohort from World War II. Can
she learn to fully give herself to this mouthwatering 40s hunk… and also figure
a way to leave this outpost in the Bermuda Triangle?

DIFFERENT GENERATIONS: Army
Air Force pilot, Jack Harrington, can’t believe his good luck when he spots
Larissa in the waters by his desert island. Stranded for what he believes is
five years, he thinks her daft because she seems to have forgotten World War
II. Can he come to terms with the news that he’s a “1940s retread” and convince
himself that Larissa could love him, no matter how “old” he is?

Scene Set-Up:

Scene Setup: Jack Harrington, marooned on a desert island for what he thinks is five
years, finds Larissa Parish, who’s been swept overboard from a yacht.

Excerpt:

About to take the plunge, he
spotted something bobbing in the distance. What the hell? Squinting into the
setting sunlight, he saw that the object was orange.

Orange like a lifejacket.
And by all that was holy, this lifejacket had arms!

Without a second thought, he
sliced through the water toward the object--the person. “Christ, please be alive,”
he prayed, stroke after stroke. Digging another grave alongside his two friends
held no appeal whatsoever.

But for right now, the only
thing that mattered was closing the gap that separated him and this person in
distress. Quickly reaching his goal, he then smoothed back dripping hair
splayed every which way over the victim’s face.

For a moment, his heart
stopped as solidly as his watch had. It was a girl, the most exquisite girl in
all the world. Of course, he was pragmatic enough to realize that any girl
would have been exquisite after five years of abstinence. Even one with blue
lips like this poor creature had.

Wasting no time, he swiftly
towed his precious cargo to shore.

Dear Christ, she wasn’t
breathing. She was as limp as a rag doll, so he lifted her chin to tilt her
head back and begin mouth-to-mouth resuscitation. But that lifejacket prevented
him from seeing if her lungs were rising with the forced air.

Using his free hand, he
fumbled with the fastenings, then tore off the jacket....

Sweet baby Jesus! Jack’s
heart actually constricted. This girl had a body on her to die for--

No time for that, his mind screamed. Exhaling into her mouth, he
counted to five and forced air into her again. “C’mon, baby. You can do it,” he
urged between breaths.

But although that curvy
chest of hers rose, he still didn’t hear her exhale.

“Do it for me. Breathe!”
Panic rushed into his voice.

She was so lovely laying
there, a dusting of sand against her cheek bone, her long dark hair heavy with
water and grit. He took another moment to scan her skimpy one-piece swimsuit...
and swallowed his astonishment. Female fashions must’ve really changed since he
last hit USA’s sweet shores. This suit was skirtless--cut extremely high on the
leg, leaving very little to the imagination.

He wiped the sweat from his
brow. Yeah, she was lovely all right, but so damn lifeless.

She couldn’t die. He
wouldn’t let her. In between breaths, he roughly shook her by her shoulders.
Maybe that wasn’t the best thing to do, but he couldn’t just let her slip away.
Fear--cold and heartless--froze his soul.

“Damn it to hell, babe, come
on! Cut the crap! Breathe!”

He willed her back to life;
he made her suck that air into her lungs and spit it out again. His reward was
at first a slow rise, then fall of those delicious, rounded breasts.

As she took deeper breaths,
she started coughing until she was fully and beautifully conscious. And now
awake, she stared at him, as if not comprehending what had just transpired.

Under the scrutiny of those
blazing green eyes, he must’ve turned red, but hell, his unkempt beard hid a
multitude of sins.

She propped herself up on
her elbows and lifted a feathery eyebrow. “Do you always swear at strangers?”

It's release day for HER TRUE MATCH, the newest book in my X-OPS Series, and I couldn't be more excited! This is Dreya and Braden's story, the elusive feline shifter/cat burglar the only cop who can catch her. To say anymore would be giving you spoliers, but I can tell you that this book changes everything!

FORCED TOGETHER...

When feline shifter Dreya Clark is escorted from the police interrogation by two secret agents, she thinks she's dodged a bullet. That sexy detective Braden Hayes caught her stealing red-handed. When she finds out what she has to do to stay out of jail, suddenly she's missing the hot cop with the piercing gaze. She's being recruited for her shifter abilities by the Department of Covert Operations.

WILL DANGER RIP THEM APART?

Braden has been chasing the smart-mouthed cat burglar for years. But when Dreya's taken away, he knows their game of cat and mouse has turned deadly-serious. There's no way he'll let her go off alone. Fur flies and temperatures flare as Braden realizes Dreya is much more than she appears. Thrown together on a dangerous covert mission, this unlikely pair will have to rely on each other to make it out alive.

To celebrate the release of HER TRUE MATCH, the newest book in my X-OPS Series, I’m giving away FIVE Signed Paperbacks of the first five books in the series (HER PERFECT MATE, HER LONE WOLF, HER WILD HERO, HER FIERCE WARRIOR and HER ROGUE ALPHA) to one lucky winner!

Haunted by recurring
nightmares of doom, Savannah Alexander learns that the future and past are
irrevocably linked. Will she be able to save herself and the man she has grown
to love from the horrors that await her back in time... on the lost continent
of Atlantis?

In matters of love, Tom
Patterson has been hurt before. But when overwhelming coincidences bring
Savannah back into his life, can he put aside his prejudices and act upon faith
to protect the woman he loves?

Scene Set-Up:

A series
of “coincidences” brings childhood friends Savannah and Tom back to her
grandmother’s house in a small town. Neither of them recognize each other.
Savannah (S.E.) meets Tom’s daughter, Wendy, and invites them to have dinner
with her at her grandmother’s house.

Excerpt:

Something was happening to
Tom. Something he didn’t understand. Maybe it was the domestic routine or
perhaps the homey atmosphere. He’d wanted to find those things when he’d
married seven years ago, but marital bliss had eluded him.

He ran his hand through his
hair. That failure was in the past. Tonight, his bizarre frame of mind was due
to S.E. He agreed with his daughter; the initials didn’t do the woman justice.
She was beauty personified, looking cool and luscious in a silk designer blouse
and sexy crepe slacks.

Standing in back of her as
she efficiently handwashed the dishes, he fought an urge to spin her around and
kiss the living daylights out of her.

Madness! What the devil was
wrong with him?

To prevent his hands from
wandering over her tempting body, he jammed them into his pockets. “This
morning, who would’ve guessed Wendy and I would be here in East Prairie
tonight, having supper in this house, with a beautiful stranger?”

He hadn’t intended to
mention the word beautiful but it just slipped out. Holding his breath, he
waited for S.E.’s reaction.

It was slow in coming. She
finished rinsing off the dishes, then dried her hands on a towel. “If that’s a
compliment, Dr. Patterson, I thank you.”

Their gazes held. This time,
when he lowered his voice, it was to convey his desire. “No, I thank you.”

Her lips parted. It was a
sign; she wanted him, too. At least he hoped that was so. He closed the scant
distance between them and placed his hands on her shoulders. Dear Lord, the
merest touch of her made his head reel. He leaned closer. “S.E., I--”